


I've Seen You Smile

by daysinbetween



Category: Marrissey - Fandom, Morrissey (Musician), The Smiths
Genre: Andy is a Good Friend, First Meetings, Johnny is smitten, Johnny just wants to be with Morrissey so bad, M/M, Meet-Cute, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phone calls are hard, Record shop, smh this guy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2018-10-13 01:52:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10503978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daysinbetween/pseuds/daysinbetween
Summary: Johnny works in a record shop, and can't help but admire the boy who visits with increasing frequency.





	1. It's Alive

**Author's Note:**

> the title is so dumb im dying ill proBS change it lol

 

It was all Claire's fault. Bloody sisters.

  
To convince mum that she wasn't scurrying around getting high with her friends (which she actually was, Johnny knew), she had told their mother that she got a job.

  
Supposedly, she was giving out leaflets outside the station for this failing women's boutique, Thursday through Monday 11-4pm.

  
_It's a lie_ , she'd mouthed to him with a mischievous glint in her eye, nudging his foot under the dinner table. Their parents had no idea she was meeting up with friends after school to get high and impress the boys they liked.

  
However unintentionally it had been, it was Claire's fault because she had successfully instilled _standards_ in their mum. Johnny was no longer permitted to spend his free time teaching himself guitar and barely scrape C's at school. Now he had to show up to all his classes, and worst of all, he had to get a _job._

  
Seeing as he had only one interest, music, it fit that the only record shop in their pathetic town was hiring at the time. It fit that Johnny get a job there. It just didn't make it any less shit.

  
At least Andy allowed him to play whatever he wanted on the speakers. Johnny was granted some form of lenience due to his status as his boss' son's best friend, as Andy's dad owned the shop.

  
"Hey, Johnny!" he heard Andy call from the back storage room.

  
Johnny stopped leaning on the messy counter-top and ceased fiddling with the rusty, golden desk bell; instead electing to face the direction the call had come from and shout a response.

  
"Yeah?"

  
Entering the back room, Johnny discovered a stressed looking Andy surrounded by several large cardboard boxes, which appeared to be labelled by music genre.

  
Standing up straight and wiping the sweat off his forehead, Andy groaned tiredly and gestured grandly to the boxes. Johnny leant against the doorframe, his short, skinny legs clad in faded denim jeans holding him up.

  
"Give us a hand with these, would you? Dad wants them open and sorted by the end of the day," Andy asked.

  
"What if someone comes in?" Johnny inquired. Wouldn't it look bad if somebody were to enter the shop and be greeted by an empty counter?

  
"Nah, Tuesdays are always dead. You're fine," Andy smirked. "And if someone does come in, it's unlikely they'll be anybody you'll like anyway."

  
Johnny rolled his eyes as he sat on his knees and leaned over to drag a box marked 'Hard rock' towards himself.

  
"Not by choice. Mum expects me to find a nice girl in my late twenties and settle down with her. It was hard enough convincing her to allow me to work here. It's hardly likely she'll be happy with me shagging a boy." He replied.

  
"Still a damn shame you had to turn down Angie though. She's had her eye on you for months." Andy whistled and shook his head, joining Johnny on the floor with an ' _oomf'_ and retrieving his own box, marked 'Jazz'.

  
"No, it isn't. She has a tattoo. Mum would've gone nuts."

  
"Yeah, a tat on her forearm. Your Ma wouldn't have even seen it. And Angie's hot, so who cares? I still think you should go for it."

  
Johnny used a thick pair of scissors to stab a hole in the tightly shut cardboard box, dragging it across the surface roughly to sever a long, open line in the material, successfully revealing its contents. Some records.

  
"You know I can't. Mum's on this massive parenting kick. Ever since Claire made her think she's got a job, she expects me to work hard and all that. If I don't prove myself she won't buy me the new Yamaha."

  
"The FG-331?"

  
"Yeah," Johnny replied wistfully, handing the scissors to Andy and watching him repeat the ritualistic box-carving on his 'Jazz' box.

  
"Oh well, mate. Who knows. You might find somebody that you'll like and your mum will just have to learn to accept-"

  
Interrupting Andy, a quiet _'ding!_ ' came from the front of the store.

  
"Shit, the bell. A customer," Johnny whipped his head to the door, getting up swiftly. He ran a hand through his messy, dark hair and pulled his leather jacket down self consciously.

  
Andy waved a dismissive hand, remaining on the floor in the circle of boxes.

"Go," he said. "Come back when you're done." A desperate tone entered his voice as he said this, and Johnny chuckled lowly as he pushed open the door to exit the room.

  
Stepping out of the storage room, he turned around and made the sharp left to take him to the counter.

  
A tall man was leant over a rack of records, facing away from Johnny. The first thing he noticed was the man's broad shoulders and the way his oversized blazer ( _blazer?_ ) stretched across them, pulling the fabric taut. He furiously repressed the thoughts that entered his mind as he took in the man's full image; specifically, his body and his hair.

  
And then, of course, his face when he turned around. An adorable pink flush appeared on the man's cheeks ( _adorable??)_ and he pulled his full bottom lip into his mouth and bit it nervously.

  
It took Johnny a solid five seconds to remember how to speak and not blurt "What's your number, gorgeous?". _That's inappropriate,_ he chided himself. _He looks older than you, anyway._

  
_He looks hot._

  
_Shut up._

  
"Can I help you?" Johnny crossed his arms and leaned on the counter, forcing himself not to trace the contours of the man's lips (and cheekbones and chin and profile and hair) with his eyes as he approached. The flush only increased and Johnny fought the urge to break out into a huge grin at the man's pink cuteness.

  
"Yes," _oh fuck his voice_ , "I was looking at your Ramones collection for something specific and can't find it in there."

  
Johnny simply rested his chin on his hands, drinking in the boy and the feeling he gave him, before he realised he needed to reply.

  
"Oh, yeah! Which one were you looking for?" Johnny smiled in a way he hoped was charming and not creepy, but it only served to make the man's flush deepen further.

  
" _It's Alive_ , actually."

  
Johnny nodded. He had really nice blue eyes. If he keeps biting that lip he was going to _jump over this desk and-_

  
"That's a live album, right? Yeah, we keep those in the back; customers don't usually ask for them as often. I'll just grab it for you, one second."

  
The man gave a small smile and nodded, and Johnny watched him flick through Blues records distractedly out of the corner of his eye as he returned to the store room.

  
Andy had made little progress with the boxes, in fact he appeared to have created even more of a mess as there had been when he'd left.

  
"Things okay?" he asked from the floor as Johnny quickly scrambled to a shelf in an effort to find the record as fast as possible.

  
"Yeah, yeah." he replied. The records clacked and shifted together loudly as he shifted through them in an almost violent manner; alarming Andy with the sudden noise enough for him to lift his head and raise an eyebrow curiously.

  
"What's up with you?" He asked, his voice turning suspicious. "Who's the customer? It's not someone famous, is it?"

  
Johnny felt himself flush a deep red and he froze, stopping his furious flicking through the endless rows of albums marked 'I'. Andy's curiosity grew when he saw.

  
"No," Johnny replied. For a reason he couldn't place, he was reluctant to have anybody else but him interact with the boy. He knew it was ludicrous (not to mention, _fucking creepy_ ) but he was afraid Andy would somehow mess this up for him.

  
A slimy grin wormed its way onto Andy's lips.

  
"Oh my _God!"_ he exclaimed, bounding up from the floor and grabbing onto Johnny's shoulders, shaking him back and forth forcefully, making Johnny dizzy. Suddenly, he stopped, leaning in close with his eyes wide.

  
" _There's someone out there that you like, isn't there?"_ he whispered conspiratorially.

  
Johnny glared at him, throwing off the grip Andy had on his shoulders and crossing his arms, tone defensive when he spoke.

  
"No, there is _not_."

  
His friend's grin only grew.

  
"Yes there is. Don't bullshit me. Whoever is out there had better be _hot-_ "

  
"Will you shut the fuck up?" Johnny closed a hand over Andy's mouth, watching Andy's eyes twinkle where he couldn't voice his enthusiasm, and glanced behind him at the open storeroom door worriedly.

  
"He'll hear you. Shut the fuck up."

  
Cautiously, Johnny removed his small hand from Andy's mouth and winced when a low laugh emitted from the taller boy.

  
" _He'll_ hear, eh? I want to see him. What did he want? He didn't ask for a shit band, right?"

  
"Yes. _He._ And he asked for the Ramones, I have to find the record before he leaves."

  
Andy watched as Johnny returned to his furious search with a sly grin on his face. _This could be fun._

  
Johnny held up the record triumphantly, a loud "A-ha!" falling from his lips, before he held it to his chest protectively and raced from the room, leaving Andy behind him, shaking his head.

  
His heart thumped against the record when he saw the boy again. Thank God he hadn't left, he didn't know what he'd do. He looked even better than before, how is that possible?

  
The boy met his eyes with a small smile and approached Johnny. Their height difference became increasingly apparent with every step they took closer to each other, but this only served to make the heat in his heart sizzle with more vigour.

  
"Here you are. _It's Alive_." Johnny uttered.

  
Their fingers brushed as he passed over the album gently. For fuck's sake _._ His fingers were long, bony, soft and gentle, and Johnny wanted to tangle his own fingers in them and kiss them and hold them to his face lovingly and s _uck on them -_

  
"Thank you," the man's soft voice uttered gently. Johnny felt like just falling to his knees to wrap his arms around the man's endless legs and never let go - _what the fuck?_

  
"What do I owe you?"

  
_Your name? Your number? Dinner?_

  
"Uh." Johnny licked his lips. "£3.99."

  
He found that he could barely remove his gaze from the boy's for longer than a few seconds without feeling that itching need to watch him again. He indulged himself as he figured it was unlikely that the man would return. This thought saddened him, and after he had purchased the album, Johnny just had to speak. Would he regret it? Probably.

  
"What's your name?" Johnny assumed his previous position of leaning over the counter, letting his head rest on his clasped hands. He watched the boy fumble and the pink flush returned when Johnny spoke.

  
"Steven," he answered. _Steven._ "Call me Morrissey, though."

  
"Why Morrissey?" Johnny asked curiously.

  
"It's my surname. I prefer it."

  
Johnny grinned. God, of course, someone this beautiful would also be exceptionally unique and intriguing. Just his luck.

  
"Okay, Morrissey," Johnny smirked.

  
"What's yours?"

  
"Huh?"

  
"Your name."

  
"Oh." He huffed a laugh. "My name's Johnny."

  
Morrissey bit his lip and his blue eyes flicked to the floor, before meeting his own once more. After a few seconds, Morrissey abruptly turned and walked away, record in hand, leaving Johnny staring at his back as the door bell _clinged!_ with his exit.

 

 


	2. Radio Ethiopia

"Johnny."

 

Who wears blazers if they're not in school uniform? And it had looked tattered and worn, frayed at the edges - he obviously wore it very often. This realisation made Johnny's heart hurt with fondness. God, he'd spoken to the man once and already just the thought of him made his palms sweaty and his pulse escalate.

 

"Johnny."

  
He hadn't seemed the type to listen to the Ramones, though. Maybe he was some kind of avid record collector? Surely he'd have to visit the shop more often then, to buy more records. Maybe they just didn't stock rare enough records. Johnny made a note to ask Andy about that. Anything that would increase the chances of the man's return.

 

" _Johnny!_ "

  
His eyes were cerulean. Or cyan? Azure? Sapphire? Sky blue? Fucking cornflower? He didn't want to forget the man's image for a second, so he had chosen to spend as much time as he could remembering parts of the man's appearance, like his clothes and shoes and hairstyle. The bloody quiff he'd never forget if he tried. It looked so fluffy and touchable...

"For fuck's sake."

"Shit!"

Johnny rubbed his arm where Andy had whacked it. It throbbed pitifully. That was going to bruise, dammit.

"Do I have your attention now?"

Andy was next to him at the counter, which was odd. Johnny hadn't noticed. His friend's eyebrow was cocked.

  
"Sorry, sorry. Yeah." Johnny muttered distractedly.

  
"You're thinking about that boy again, aren't you?" Andy's voice contained equal parts exasperation and warmth.

  
Johnny felt a warm flush bloom on his cheeks.

  
"No. I'm not!" he exclaimed when Andy waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  
Andy leaped atop the wooden counter (which wobbled precariously under his weight) and sang mockingly, rocking back and forth:

  
"Johnny and Morrissey, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G-"

  
Johnny felt his flush increase and buried his face in his hands, groaning.

  
"Stop, oh my God, Andy-"

  
"First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby, in a baby carriage!"

  
"You're so loud and out of tune, it hurts. And we're both male, you twat."

  
"That's not it! That's not all! The baby's drinking - alcohol! D-I-V-O-R-C-E-"

  
"You're so supportive, thank you."

  
"D-I-V-O-R-C-E!" Andy bleated obnoxiously. His ears were going to bleed.

  
"Um." A soft voice interrupted them.

  
Honest to God, Johnny's heart almost leapt out of his chest. Eyes wide, he twisted around Andy (sat in the middle of the counter, brilliant), who also craned his neck around wildly, to see none other than Morrissey standing there, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

  
He was back! Yes!

  
"Hello!" Andy exclaimed, a bright grin appearing on his face. Only Johnny could detect the almost invisible traces of mischief in his expression and he felt a small drop of dread at the sight. _Please don't do anything dumb. Don't embarrass me._

  
"Hello," replied Morrissey uncertainly, sending a pleading look towards Johnny, unfamiliar with Andy and obviously unsure how to act. Johnny decided to rescue him.

  
Fuck, fuck, fuck. He looked so adorable. The glasses perched on his nose and the rosy pink blush appearing on his cheeks made Johnny want to bound over to him and simply never let go.

  
"Hey, Morrissey!" Johnny grinned happily.

  
Morrissey's flush deepened.

  
"Hello, Johnny." he replied, voice gentle.

  
Johnny felt a spark of happiness when he realised Morrissey had remembered his name. A small voice in his head reminded him that he could have just heard it when he walked in and Andy was singing his stupid song - Shit.

  
"How much of that did you hear?" Johnny asked, alarmed. Snickering, Andy flicked his eyes between them.

  
Morrissey blinked. "Something about divorce?"

  
Johnny breathed a sigh of relief.

  
"So you need any help?" Andy asked, smiling. Shyly, Morrissey shifted where he stood.

  
"Yes. Do you have any of Patti Smith's records?"

  
Andy appeared to think for a moment before his face lit up.

  
"Yeah! We do. Hang on, I'll just show you where they-"

  
"I can do it!" Johnny interrupted.

  
So he wanted to spend as much time with Morrissey as possible, sue him!

  
Andy smirked and met Johnny's eyes knowingly. He winked.

  
"Alright, if you're so desperate." he said, voice teasing.

  
Johnny slipped around the edge of the counter, avoiding Andy's slick teasing. Beaming, he approached Morrissey and tried not to feel too anxious. However, it was easy to push those feelings away and focus on the part of him that was alight with happiness.

  
He led Morrissey through the store, passing rows and rows of stacked records which he trailed his eyes over to check if anything was amiss. No matter how hard he tried, Johnny saw his eyes being dragged back to the man next to him as if by magnetic force.

  
Morrissey looked good today. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt underneath an unbuttoned, soft blue jacket, a black belt and battered blue denim jeans. He looked like he had left the house looking beautiful and gorgeous with absolutely no effort involved.

  
Johnny, himself, was wearing a rough black denim jacket over a white button up shirt, which was mandatory for work, and skinny jeans. He'd worn a small gold hoop earring in his left ear, about the size of a 20p coin, and his hair was ruggedly styled in his normal black fringe, swooping over his forehead delicately.

 

Johnny self-consciously compared his lack of style to Morrissey's apparent expertise, feeling as if he should have made more of an effort in case the man had visited the shop. He wanted to impress him. He made a note of this for next time.

  
"So, Patti Smith, eh?" Johnny smirked, eyeing a sideways glance in Morrissey's direction.

  
"Yes." he replied.

  
"She's a genius," Johnny exclaimed, stopping short at the stack labelled 'P'. He began flicking through the records noisily. Looking up, he noticed that Morrissey was standing a few feet away, staring at him with awe.

  
"You... okay?" he asked. Had he done something wrong?

  
Morrissey blinked and swallowed, shaking his head. Quickly, he approached Johnny and kept his eyes averted. Johnny mentally shrugged and continued to search through the records.

  
"I agree." Morrissey murmured. "She is a genius."

  
Johnny smiled. "You've got good taste."

  
The man blushed. "Who else do you like?"

  
"Hmm. Well, off the top of my head, Bowie, Roxy, T.Rex. The Supremes. Dunno."

  
"Do you like the Dolls?"

  
"The New York Dolls?"

  
Morrissey nodded.

  
"Of course." Johnny sent Morrissey a small smile, feeling his heart flip at the look of wonder on the other boy's face.

  
"Here you are. Which ones were you looking for? We've got Easter, Radio Ethiopia, Horses-"

  
"Radio Ethiopia, please."

  
"Sure."

 

Johnny rang the album up at the counter. Andy stood next to him smirking, eyes flicking between him and Morrissey.

  
"So... I'll see you soon, yeah?" Johnny asked nervously.

  
"Yes. Soon." Morrissey nodded, giving him a small smile before quickly leaving the shop.

  
Unblinking, Johnny's eyes never left the man's form until it disappeared.

  
Andy huffed a laugh, shaking his head with his arms crossed.

  
"What?" Johnny asked defensively.

  
"Mate, you are _whipped._ "

 

 

 


	3. Linder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> using my hotspot to post this because my wifi is so bad lmao  
> this is my favourite chapter so far  
> pls let me know what u think !

Johnny decided that smoking was better at night. The way the smoke tendrils drifted upwards into the sky, it sent a feeling of calmness through him that little else could. It reminded him of pouring milk into a cup of tea and the swirling patterns that created. (He decided to ignore how British this comparison made him sound.)

  
He brought the cigarette to his lips and took a long drag, inhaling in, and then exhaling, out. No matter the snide comments his family loved to make about this particular activity, it was a favourite past time of his.

  
"You know they hate it when you do that."

  
His sister's voice interrupted his thoughts. Johnny glanced over to the patio door and watched Claire approach.

  
"You know they hate it when you come home covered in hickeys." he returned.

  
She sat down next to him on the ground, pulling her small legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and shivering.

  
"Touche," she murmured. "Although I'm starting to think they're getting used to it."

  
He snorted. "Of course they're bloody getting used to it. It happens every weekend."

  
Claire flushed. "It'd happen every night if I could help it."

  
Ew, I didn't need to think about that. "Don't put that image in my head, please and thank you, ma'am." He grimaced and flicked his cigarette ash in her direction.

  
"But Johnny, he's so lovely."

  
"I bet he is. And so was the other guy, last month, and back in January, and Oliver in November..."

  
"Shut up. Give me some of that."

  
Johnny took a drag before handing it over to her.

  
"These'll kill you," she said, looking to him, fringe blowing over her forehead just like his and the light from the kitchen filtering through the patio door and hitting her face in an orange hue. She took a drag of the cigarette.

  
He leant his head back against the wall and shut his eyes. He could see strange patterns float in multicolour swirls behind his eyelids and he could hear the shallow sound of Claire's breathing.

  
"S'good, though." He murmured. And that was it, his addiction to cigarettes explained. That and a complete lack of self-preservation mixed with a healthy dose of self-loathing.

  
"Makes you look fucking cool." She added. He huffed a laugh.

  
"So," she began. "Why are you out here?"

  
"Mm." Johnny shrugged. "To smoke, obviously. But Mum and Dad were driving me mental."

  
"Oh yeah?"

  
"Yeah." He spoke in a squeaky, high voice, then: "'Take that bloody earring out! You know what the boys at school think of you!'"

  
Claire groaned. Johnny nodded and took the cigarette. Inhale, exhale. He followed the pretty swirls with his eyes.

  
"Having a go at me because of my mock results. As if I care," Claire spat.

  
"Mm."

  
"I always say to her, at least I'm not pregnant. It could be worse."

  
Johnny shrugged. "Would be nice to have another boy walking around, though."

  
"What, your mates not good enough for you?" Claire grinned.

  
"No, no. Andy's great."

  
"Angie?"

  
"What about her?"

  
"Well, what about her?"

  
"She's alright."

  
"Well, do you see her?"

  
Johnny swallowed. "Nah."

  
"Have you asked her out?"

  
_The fuck was with the questions?_

  
"She asked me out," he replied. Claire seemed excited at his response.

  
"You said yes, right?" she squealed.

  
"Nah," he repeated, keeping his eyes fixed on the dark sky. She deflated at his answer.

  
"Oh. Why?"

  
"Don't feel like getting with anyone right now."

  
She looked at him for a moment, eyes piercing, before seemingly accepting this and sighing.

  
"Fair enough. I still think you guys could've been great. You know you share a birthday with her?"

  
"Wow, soulmates." He replied dryly.

  
"Shut up," she smacked his arm lightly. She laughed. "Don't tell me you don't believe in soulmates. You can't bullshit me, I know you're a romantic."

  
"I'm really not," he argued.

  
"Yeah, you are. I've heard some of your original guitar stuff and that shit can't be described as anything but romantic."

 

He shrugged. "I guess my mind is more romantic than me."

  
Claire snorted.

  
"Now you just need someone to write the lyrics."

  
He nodded and took another drag of his cigarette.

 

-

 

  
Johnny had also decided that school was shit. Long, endless hours spent in a cramped classroom being forced to learn a boring, difficult subject that you hate and don't give a single fuck about, surrounded by people you despise and annoy the shit out of you? It was his idea of hell.

  
His day had been torturous. First, he'd been late and had stumbled into his form room with his hair unbrushed and yesterday's shirt on. He'd been marked late which meant another detention that went on his record. Another detention making it less and less likely that his mum was going to deliver and buy him his beautiful Yamaha.

  
Then, he had a test in every class. All of which he'd neglected to revise for. In the margin of his English paper, he'd just doodled a certain boy's quiff and had forgotten to do the last question because he was, erm, distracted. That question was worth half of the entire paper. He was fucked.

  
In his haste to leave that morning, he had forgotten money for food, and had to starve at lunch. To make matters worse, Angie was at his table, and sure, he liked her and he thought she was pretty. But a guy needs his space to breathe, yeah?

  
"Cheer up, mate. If you want, we can head over to Casper's after school, and I'll get you something." Andy offered.

  
"Yeah, alright. Thanks."

  
God, Andy's a saint, he thought, slurping his milkshake through a straw. What a guy. After the day he's had, this creamy, milky, sugary concoction was everything he needed to lift his spirits...

  
"Fuck, man. These are good. I need to have bad days more often."

  
Andy snorted. "With exams in a few months, I'd count on it."

  
Johnny groaned in despair at the very thought, and his head fell onto the purple table with a thunk.

  
"No," he whined. "Life is just so shit, Andy."

  
Andy tutted sympathetically and patted his back. "I know, my small friend." He pushed the remainder of his milkshake in Johnny's direction.

  
"Here, you can finish this. Let it cure all of your ailments."

  
"It's not gonna work. Not this time. Not unless it'll help me remember Physics formulae."

  
Andy laughed. "To be honest, it'll probably kill the brain cells you need for that."

  
He shrugged and sipped the drink, uncaring. "Whatever. Fucking - Claire. It's all her fault. Now things matter and it's all because she pretended to get a job."

  
"You've still got guitar, mate."

  
"True, but I've barely touched it in the last few weeks. Too busy spending time with family or at the shop or, get this, right? Doing _homework_."

  
Andy mock gasped and clutched his heart over his chest. "No! You're kidding."

  
"I know. I hate it."

  
The door of the small establishment jingled whenever someone entered. Usually, whenever they came here, it grated at Johnny's nerves. It was no different this time, and he looked up, ready to death-glare whoever entered for daring to draw his attention with the inane jingle.

  
But when he did look up to see no one but Morrissey, he felt a shock zip through him which he recognised as delight. This disappeared exactly one second later when he noticed the girl following Morrissey, sitting next to him in a booth, talking to him animatedly.

  
"Wow, is that your boy?" Andy blinked and stretched to see past him.

  
"Yeah." Wow, his day surely could not have gone worse. "Andy, he's with a _girl._ "

  
"...Ah."

  
The girl had dark hair that was cut close to her scalp, thick eyebrows and heavy make-up. She was wearing about six little pearl necklaces around her neck and bands up and down her pale wrists. The collar of her shirt was frilly and lacey but the rest wasn't, and she had a dark, long skirt on that went to her ankles, followed by small heels.

  
"They're like complete opposites," Andy murmured. Johnny agreed.

  
Morrissey was wearing a massive, fluffy-looking grey coat over a white shirt and trousers, along with a single, long, wooden bead necklace that hung around his neck and down his chest. Oh God, he looks adorable, Johnny thought, eyes stuck on the boy's fluffy hair.

  
Morrissey looked up and gazed around the room. Johnny swore and ducked his head, keeping his eyes averted.

  
"Mate, what are you doing?!" Andy hissed from the seat next to him.

  
"Don't look at him," Johnny hissed back, looking at Andy desperately with wide eyes. His small hand shot out and grabbed a menu and he hid underneath it. "He'll recognise us."

  
"Uh," Andy looked thorougly confused. "Don't you... _want_ to talk to him?"

  
Johnny glared. "No. It's too painful."

  
"Sorry, why the fuck is it painful again?"

  
Johnny shut his eyes and whined. "He's _with_ her, you twat, _look_."

  
"You don't know that! Johnny, you're hiding under a menu. No offence, but you kind of look like a dick."

  
"Not helping." Johnny hissed.

  
"Come on, they're just talking. It doesn't mean he's with her."

  
"It probably does, though."

  
"You don't know that! Just go and say hello."

  
"No!"

  
"I'll do it for you-"

  
"I swear to God, Andy, if you get up from this table right now I'm _never_ speaking to you again."

  
"For Christ's sake-"

  
Just then, a whoop of girlish laughter could be heard from Morrissey's table. Followed by:

  
"But you already _own_ Radio Ethiopia!"

  
Johnny's metaphorical ears shot up. _Radio Ethiopia..._

  
He could've sworn that was the album Morrissey had bought from the shop last week. But if he already had a copy, why'd he have to get another one?

  
"Didn't he get Radio Ethiopia from the shop the other day?" Johnny asked, nudging Andy under the table with his foot. The boy appeared to think for a moment.

  
"Uh. Yeah? Patti Smith?"

  
"Yeah," Johnny nodded. "She just said he already owned it though."

  
Andy blinked, and then Johnny watched as a large grin appeared on his face, slow and mischievous.

  
"So he just came in to see you again?"

  
The menu slid off of his head when he coughed loudly, successfully and mistakenly drawing the attention of the two people he'd rather not receive any from at that moment.

  
They both looked up from their conversation in Johnny's direction. Morrissey's eyes widened and a blush appeared on his cheeks. The girl sitting opposite him ran her eyes over Johnny before turning back to Morrissey. Then, he hissed something to her and she quickly spun back around on her seat, looking over Johnny a second time. It made his skin prickle with the knowledge of being judged and he resolutely avoided eye contact.

  
"Fuck," he spoke, wide eyes on Andy. He was snickering. _Not helping, mate._

  
"Oh, she's coming over." Andy's eyes flicked up quickly. The smile on his face slid into smirk territory and he assumed his automatic position when talking to a girl; leant back on his seat, one arm slung over the other chair's back casually, legs crossed (languid) and an indulgent smirk painted on his face, shapely eyebrow cocked.

  
In contrast, Johnny sat in his seat tense like a rock and kept his eyes frozen on the table. He didn't look up even when the girl stopped at their table (the click-clack-click of her heels ceasing the moment she did so) and spoke:

  
"So, which one of you's Johnny?"

  
Andy licked his lips and his eyes twinkled when he replied, in a low voice,

  
"Who's asking, gorgeous?"

  
Johnny looked up and watched the girl's reaction. At the (rather apt) description, she straightened and crossed her arms, bracelets jangling delicately.

  
"I'm Linder. And it's no use trying on any of that with me, darling - I've kissed more girls than both of you."

  
Johnny couldn't help but feel a tiny frisson of relief at that - did that mean she was gay?

  
Andy grinned at her words. "Oh yeah? More girls than the both of us?"

  
"For sure."

  
"Wanna bet?"

  
"You're on." She held out a hand. Her nails were painted black and her hand looked small in Andy's when they shook hands.

  
"And you are?" she said.

  
"Oh, yeah. I'm Andy, and this is my good friend Johnny Marr, who I believe you were asking for."

  
Linder's attention immediately fixed on him and the prickling judgement was back. Her eyes raked over him, from the top of his head to under the table at his boots. One eyebrow raised and the left side of her cheek sucked into her mouth, she _'hmm'_ ed.

  
"I dunno Moz, I'm seeing probably a six, seven on a good day. If you're lucky. Dunno how you got to a ten, but each to their own I guess."

  
Her voice carried all the way across the diner to the table where Morrissey still sat. As Johnny registered her words, he replied cockily,

  
"You're seeing a six? Jesus, is all that make-up blinding you?"

  
"No, the glint off that earring of yours is."

  
"Says the girl wearing more necklaces around her neck than I own."

  
"Oh, you that kind of bloke that owns necklaces?"

  
"A bit. What's it to you?"

  
"Doesn't mean shit to me. It might matter to my best mate, though."

  
"Where are they, then?"

  
Linder pointed a thumb behind her, where Morrissey sat, long legs pulled up onto the booth's seat and face hidden in his knees, bright red where it was visible.

  
"Sat right over there. Say, what's it to you if I said that he also owns a fair few necklaces?"

  
Johnny smirked. "I'd say I'm pleased."

  
Linder smiled. "Good. He wants your number."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments keep me alive !!  
> (also ik all gay guys dont wear necklaces but its a metaphor ok they're gay for each other)


	4. claire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was gonna add more to this chapter but i thought nah ill drag the angst out 
> 
> this is un-betaed so all mistakes r mine  
> also i may have accidentally switched tenses because it felt better js

"It's an emergency."

  
"What is it?"

  
"I'm on fire."

  
Andy lifted his head to look at him, unconvinced, an unimpressed eyebrow cocked in his direction. Johnny simply stared at him with wide eyes.

  
"Oh, is that all?"

  
"Andy. I'm being serious. I think I have a fever," One of his small hands shot out and clasped onto Andy's, pulling the other boy's fingers to his forehead.

  
"Would you say I'm burning up? Andy, I'm not kidding. I think I'm dying."

 

"If anyone's dying right now it's me." Andy shoved his hand back and a small smile appeared on his face.

  
"Andy!"

  
"Johnny! It's fine! You're not on fire! You're not dying! You're not on drugs! You're not dreaming!" he exclaimed with fond exasperation.

  
The smaller boy leaned back on the plush seat of the diner they're still in, the leather of his jacket scrunching as he shifted. His brown eyes narrowed with disbelief and doubt.

  
"...So you're telling me that Morrissey actually just traded numbers with me?"

  
Andy grinned. "I can't believe it either! I mean, look at you!" He teased playfully.

  
A sharp thwack on the arm is what Andy received as penance for that comment. Johnny knows the message ("Fuck off,") was delivered even if the twat was giggling as it sent.

  
"Sorry, I think you'll find that I'm hot stuff."

  
Andy snorted and they were sure to leave a couple of fivers on the table when they left.

  
Getting the bus home is awful and decidedly uncool. He knows this, and yet his bus pass is tattered and worn due to the frequency with which he uses it (every day, unfortunately). But they do it anyway, Johnny's thin fingers feeling the small slip of paper in his hand with reverence, saying nothing, Andy watching with a small smile.

  
Johnny gets off the bus ten minutes later and then walks for 5 minutes down endless grey streets until he reaches his house. He's about two doors away when his eyes are pulled off the pavement by an onslaught of noise.

  
Looking up, he's immediately drawn to the rumbling car parked outside his house. God, the thing looks beaten up, he's not even sure if you could call that a car - it's coloured an old, rusty red, it's made up of more dents in the surface than the fucking moon, and all the windows are either badly cracked or entirely missing. In fact, he notices with a frown (who would voluntarily get in this deathtrap?) that in one of the back windows, someone has attempted to replace the absent glass with layers upon layers of cling film. Black smoke coughs and splutters out of the exhaust pipe in a steady but endlessly unsettling rhythm.  
Fucking hell.

  
In the front seat there's a guy, arm stretched out of the window and fingers drumming against the outer material of the door casually, so outwardly relaxed and generally unconcerned that he's not surprised the man hasn't noticed Johnny in awe of just how shit the condition of his car is. His long, black hair (swathed in a thick layer of grease, nice) sits over a good fraction of his face, but Johnny can see several silver piercings adorning his thin bottom lip and disproportionately wide nose. An eye-catching tattoo of a... is that a serpent winding in and out of a skull's empty eye sockets? covers the entire left side of the man's neck.

  
And then Johnny realises the source of the noise he could hear halfway down the street. It's unmistakable (Johnny's heard it enough bloody times to be sure); the bone rattling sound of his parents in the midst of an argument.

  
The culprit pushes him out of her way as he enters the house through the already opened front door. Her excessive force almost knocks him flying as she passes and, shocked, confused and blinking, he stands with his back to the wall and watches his sister struggle pulling a massive suitcase through the hallway and out of the front door he just entered.

  
Seconds after, their father thunders down the rickety staircase, voice booming:

  
"You get back in here this instant, young lady! I will not accept this kind of behaviour from you!"

  
His mother follows close behind. Her face is stricken, ashen and upset. Johnny almost goes to comfort her but thinks better of it and simply lets himself be ignored as his parents follow his 16 year old sister out of the house.

  
"No! I'm sick of this house and I'm sick of you lot telling me what to do, how to go about it and oh yeah! Who I can date!"

  
His father's face reddens with anger and his expression twists into one of fury, seemingly at the mention of Claire's dating habits.

  
They stomp after her, leaving the house. Johnny stands on the doorstep and sees Claire struggling to fit the massive old suitcase into the back of the awful car.

  
It looks like she's leaving and with this realisation his heart starts to ache. He takes a tentative step forward - not quite sure what to do or how to react (it's not every day his little sister leaves him in front of his eyes) - but doesn't approach them.

  
Claire slams the boot of the car closed with a resounding slam. His dad, with his fists clenched at his sides in anger, marches forward and reopens it. Claire gives an indignant squawk and they wrestle with the dented door for a moment, before she somehow manages to push it past his strong grip and slam it closed for the last time. At this a small click can be heard from the insides of the car. It's locked.

  
Dad has veins straining on his forehead and he's breathing heavily. Johnny feels distant, as if he's somewhere and somebody else. Claire's always fought with their parents but he never thought... didn't think she'd ever...

  
Some of the neighbours are poking their heads out of their houses, attracted by the drama and the noise. Mother has her head in her hands and starts to outwardly sob. The wretched cries escape her throat brokenly and no one thinks to comfort the woman as she stands on the dirty pavement alone, weeping.

  
Her only daughter strides around the length of the car and to the passenger seat on the left. Johnny sees the guy in the front - greasy, black-haired, tattooed older man who's a stranger - lean over to give his sister a kiss on the cheek with a small smirk. His eyes don't even flick to her family once, preferring to sit looking out of the windshield.

  
"Don't you dare," Dad rasps. "If you drive off, stupid girl, don't even think about coming back."

  
The blood in his veins turns cold at that. Not coming back?

  
He has to strain to hear Claire's response but once he hears it he wishes he hadn't.

  
"Fuck off. As if I'd want to see you again."

  
But she pauses and her eyes flick behind their dad to where Johnny stands. She purses her lips and suddenly she seems so much older than 16.

  
Then the stranger in the driver's seat slams the pedal and the car is halfway down the street in a flash. He watches with disbelief as it rounds the corner, a trail of black smoke and the engine revving loudly, and then she's gone.

  
He's still shocked fifteen minutes later when his mum pulls him back inside the house and shut the door behind him.

  
They sit him down on the sofa. He's sure this seat felt more comfortable yesterday. His eyes can't help but wander around the room - Claire's portraits and school photos and family pictures hang the walls. Sniffing, Mum lowers herself next to him and starts rubbing his back but he can barely feel it.

  
Dad almost walks grooves into the carpet with his furious pacing. Abruptly, he stops.

  
"You," he says. A finger is pointed in Johnny's face. "This is your fault."

  
He blinks and stares his Dad down. Mum's hand stills on his back.

  
"How is it my fault?" He asks. The wisps of righteous anger begin to build.

  
"You- You encouraged her. Somehow."

  
"How d'you reckon that?"

  
"You two were always conspiring-"

  
"I'm sorry, how does that-"

  
"And you're a bad influence, what with your smoking and your hair and the bloody earring-"

  
"Oh, this is because of my hair?!"

  
Dad's fists curl again and Johnny quickly stands. Anger boils inside him. His parents have no fucking right to treat him like shit when it's entirely their fault that Claire decided to fuck off. He shouldn't have to deal with them putting the blame on him. Fuck this!

  
"Yes! It is!" Dad shouts.

  
Johnny takes a long look at him and spits in the bastard's face.

  
"Fuck you. You don't get to judge me," he hisses.

  
He could almost laugh at how his dad looks. His face is almost turning purple and the veins are now bulging off his forehead. Plus, the spit landed smack on his cheek and is slowly trailing down to his jaw. Nice.

  
"You little-" the man starts. But Johnny's gone, already out the room and up the stairs.

  
He barges into his room and locks the door behind him. His heart pounds and he closes his eyes, leaning against the door. His parents begin to argue downstairs and the sound almost makes the floorboards underneath his feet vibrate.

  
Slowly, he sits down on the bed and lights himself a fag. He finds himself eyeing the curls of cigarette smoke and thinking back to the conversation he had with Claire only the other day.

  
It's hard to believe, hard to stomach, but he knows he has no choice but to accept it. He knows that. But he can't help but be angry.

  
She left, and now all Johnny has in this house is dickhead parents. He has no idea where she went or with who and she's sixteen fucking years old. God.

  
He shucks off his jacket and buries his face in his hands, sighing into them. All he can hear is his ragged breaths and the muted yells of his parents below.

  
Evening approaches but Johnny doesn't leave his room, just puts on some record to drown out his parent's voices. They eventually go to bed but the music continues, filling the silence, and he lays on the bed and does nothing. Unless staring at the ceiling, smoking and letting his brain torture him count as something.

  
At some point he rolls over and the jacket falls off the bed and onto the floor. Unbothered, he stares down at the leather and doesn't reach to pick or hang it up. His mind is so occupied and elsewhere that the little slip of paper with a phone number scribbled on it, in one of the jacket's pockets, doesn't cross his mind at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next update should be sooner and probably longer! sorry this took so long omg  
> pls comment + kudos, it keeps me motivated ;-)


	5. paper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that this took a while, but i hope you like it Xo

Life continues at its usual daunting and unrelenting pace. Johnny has to half drag himself to school and then work, Andy by his side most of the time.

  
There's a weird empty spot at Claire's usual place at the dinner table. Mum often stops herself getting out the fourth plate and puts it back regretfully.

  
Dad remains his usual stoic self, which only means he's muttered less than a sentence in his son's direction since said son spat in his face. Johnny tries to avoid him because even thinking of the man makes the anger he felt return back with a vigour.

  
He misses his sister - but he can't let himself become numb to everything else.

  
So he's allowing Andy to accompany him on the way to school in the morning (only because Andy knows that if he didn't turn up, Johnny'd probably bunk, which they can't afford to do this year) and then drag him to work afterward.

  
He tries so hard to pretend nothing's changed that his routine pretty much narrows down to three things: school, work, sleep. Even his guitar hasn't been touched since Claire left almost four weeks ago.

  
Johnny's at work one Friday afternoon, absently minding the counter and flicking through one of the music mags they sell. God knows what Andy's doing in the back room. They get a few customers come in and look around every now and then - no overly extravagant purchases, unfortunately.

  
Like the dutiful worker he is, he approaches every customer and attempts to hold a conversation, not only to increase the chances of them buying something but also to occupy his time, because retail work gets mind-numbingly dull sometimes (often).

  
He holds his head in his palm and catches himself nodding off. He blinks, blearily; once, twice, and everything's black for a second before he's snapped awake by a harsh _whack_ on the countertop.

  
Johnny's eyes focus quickly and it's Angie. _How does she know where he works?_

  
She's smiling at him. God - it must've been so obvious he was about to drop off on the job. Bloody hell. He runs a hand through his hair self-consciously and gives her a small smile in return.

  
"Hey, Angie," Johnny says.

  
Her grin gets bigger. "Hi! So this is where you work?"

  
_Well, he thought that was obvious._

  
"Yep," he makes a grand sweeping gesture with his hands. "This is it."

  
She cranes her neck to look around for a second, eyebrows high, before turning back to him.

 

"So what's so good about this place that you'd rather be here than out?"

  
The 'with me' on the end is unspoken and yet it hangs heavily in the air between them.

  
He shrugs in response. "Money," he jokes, huffing a laugh.

  
She returns the laughter at his attempt at humour and yeah, she's attractive, there's plenty of things Johnny could compliment about her, but-

  
"Excuse me," hisses a girl's voice, sharp. Angie turns around to face her and Johnny sees that Linder's standing behind, looking royally pissed off.

  
Arms crossed over her chest, eyes flicking over Angie quickly and distastefully, nose upturned. Linder apparently finishes her assessment of Angie and her eyes flick to Johnny, then.

  
" _You_ ," she hisses. "Outside."

  
"What-" he starts.

  
" _Now_ ," her glare intensifies.

  
"Hey, wait," Angie says but Linder cuts her off on the outset with just a look. Angie clamps her mouth shut and watches Johnny.

  
"Where's the other one?" Linder asks, shooting a look to the back room door behind Johnny. It reads 'staff only' in crusty yellow paint over the wood.

  
The door then swings open as 'the other one' walks through, smacking gum in his mouth loudly. He looks up and stops when he sees the three of them looking at him from the counter - Johnny, panicked, eyes wide and shooting a nod in Linder's direction, Angie stood confused but silent and finally Linder who is wearing a poisonous glare with her arms crossed and eyes blazing.

  
"Uh," he says, "Hi?"

  
Linder rolls her eyes and sighs, arms falling to her sides.

  
"Outside," she repeats, skimming over both Johnny and Andy with her eyes. She then turns on her heel, marching back from whence she came and out of the door in one swift motion. The door _slams_ with her exit.

  
Johnny searchingly pins his gaze on Andy. His friend simply raises his eyebrows and whistles lowly under his breath.

  
"Who was _that?_ " Angie's voice permeates the thick tension and they both turn to look at her. She looks lost and has an unexpected edge to her voice.

  
Quickly, Johnny replies "Nobody," but Andy interrupts him, saying "A friend of a friend."

  
Johnny shoots Andy an irritated glance but the boy doesn't react. Instead, he pops his gum once more.

  
"Better go and see what she wants," he says and sends Johnny a smile.

  
Angie rolls her eyes. Johnny suspects that her only intention regarding this visit to the shop was to scope the place out; see exactly where and why Johnny was refusing to go out with her every time she asked. He could imagine she was thinking: _what's so good about this place?_ Johnny just thinks to himself, almost in return: _what's so good about you?_

  
"You'd better go," he tells her shortly.

  
The girl blinks and frowns but recovers herself quickly. She appears to deliberate before leaving, seemingly debating whether or not to swoop in for a hug. But the look that's on his face must throw her off because she only gives a small wave before leaving.

  
Once she goes, Johnny and Andy shrug on their jackets and close the shop. It's agonisingly slow - he reckons that Andy's stalling a bit to avoid Linder. He reckons she properly scared him. (Which is fair enough, really, she's bloody terrifying.)

  
When they're outside, Linder gestures at them from across the street. She's standing in the mouth of a small alley. He tries to avoid alleys because he remembers seeing someone get stabbed in one when he was little, and he'd rather like to avoid that.

  
However, Linder seems to have no such qualms and waves them over with an irritated urgency. It has the two of them crossing the street and approaching her in an instant. Up close she looks even angrier than in the shop.

  
" _You_ ," she repeats herself, a long, accusing finger pointing in Johnny's face, blurry.

  
"Yeah, you already said that," Andy rolls his eyes.

  
Her dark eyes flick to him and Andy clamps his mouth shut.

  
"What exactly have I done?" Johnny asks, voice low. Linder's eyes narrow and she leads them deeper into the alley, right at the back where the poisonous berry bushes grow and beer cans and fags get abandoned in the dirt.

  
She hisses, "It's more what you _haven't_ done."

  
Johnny blinks. _What?_

  
"What?"

  
Her eyes narrow further and she speaks in a growl.

  
"What the fuck do you mean 'what'? Are you fucking _stupid?_ Have you got a single digit IQ? Is your memory as short as you are?"

  
Johnny huffs. "Yeah, thanks," he says. "The fuck's with you?"

  
Linder laughs incredulously. "The fuck is with _me?_ The fuck was with _you_ when you thought it was okay to lead my best friend on for weeks?"

  
"What?"

  
Linder blinks. "You really are that stupid," she says under her breath, before speaking up: "He's been waiting for you to call for almost a month."

  
Johnny feels a cold realisation click into place at her words.

  
_Fuck._

  
He looks to Andy, eyes wide. _Fuck!_

  
" _Shit_ ," he breathes. His hands fumble into his pockets and messily empty them - several receipts, a yellow post-it, a detention note, and then - _there, that's it_ , in the same biro inflicted scrawl as it had been the last time he'd seen it. _Morrissey's number._

  
"You fucking-" Linder starts. She grabs the paper out of his hand and holds it to his face, shaking it. "You _forgot!?"_

  
Quickly, Andy steps between them, glaring her down. "Watch it."

  
Johnny shakes his head. "I forgot because I had other things to worry about," he tries to explain.

  
_How could he have forgotten?_

  
Fucking hell. He can only imagine how awful that must've been for Morrissey - waiting for him to call for days and then weeks.

  
"You're realising how much of a twat you've been now, aren't you?" Linder steps back and crosses her arms again, still holding the slip of paper. "He's only been a wreck. Do you know how hard it is to get him to warm to people? The only conclusion he could come to after you completely fall off the grid after he gives you a chance - which, I might add, has _never_ happened before, not _once_ \- is that you suddenly decided he wasn't worth your time."

  
Johnny shakes his head furiously. The regret starts to pool in him and he wipes a hand over his face and sighs heavily. "I'm - I'm sorry."

  
She scoffs.

  
"No, I _am_." Johnny meets her eyes. "My sister left, and it was hard for me to think about anything else but how lonely and different it was. It was hard for me to even leave the house. I'm sorry I forgot, I am. But I didn't forget about it because of _him,_ I forgot about it because I forgot _everything_."

  
He feels a weight on his shoulder and looks to see Andy's hand, and the boy squeezes and gives him a small smile.

  
"I'm sorry," he says again. "Give me another chance. I won't... I won't fuck it up."

  
Linder narrows her eyes. The piece of paper trapped in her fingers is virtually weightless but leaves a heavy tension hanging between the three of them. Linder says nothing and a few moments pass.

  
Desperation starts to seep in. _God, you had one good thing going, you just had to go and fuck that up as well, just like everything else. It's probably a good thing that this ended before it had a chance to begin, you'd just hurt him, anyway, he deserves better than the likes of you -_

  
Her hand snaps forward and the slip of paper is held between them. When he doesn't move ( _too afraid?_ ) Linder exhales quickly, annoyed. She grabs his hand and leaves the palm flat before slapping the paper on top. Her nails dig into his skin when she talks, a warning.

  
"You better not fuck it up," she hisses. "God knows I'm not letting you hurt him again."

  
Johnny breathes out and nods quickly. "Yes. Thank you."

  
With one last final, searching look at his face, she nods. Then she's gone and out of the alley in a blink, her footsteps worn into the dirt and the number in Johnny's palm the only evidence of her being there.

  
Slowly, Johnny turns around and meets Andy's eyes. His friend is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, eyebrows high.

  
"Bloody _hell_ ," he whistles, almost in disbelief.

  
Johnny has to agree.

  
-

  
Fucking hell.

  
He's sat on his spinning desk chair but the chair isn't where it's usually parked. It's far from the desk, situated in the middle of the room so he can properly look at this bloody slip of paper where it sits on his desk under the yellow lamp light.

  
He's had a month. It's time to call.

  
Johnny's grabbed the house's landline and waited until his parents are out - fuck knows where they went, it's not like Johnny cares that much anyway - and now he's twiddling the cord between his sweaty fingers and lasering a hole into the table with the strength in his burning gaze.

  
There is no way he can fuck this up. Like, it would have been a bit awkward before, but now -

  
There is no way.

  
He takes a deep breath and scoots forward. Fucking spinning chairs on carpet, man. Not making this any easier.

  
Once he can see the numbers clearly (the last thing he needs is some wrong number to pick up and add to the phone bill), he takes another steadying deep breath. Then he clutches at the phone and feels the _crack_ of the plastic under his hand.

  
His lip bleeds where he bites into it too hard. Johnny swallows.

  
 _Come on. Put the numbers in_.

  
It's not _hard;_ press a specific set of numbers that lead to a phone call. Then _speak._

  
The first few numbers are easy, he gets them done in a flash. Then his brain helpfully reminds him that he'd be lucky if Morrissey even bothers to look at him again, let alone give him a chance.

  
The last few numbers are harder, and he's started to shake.

  
He swallows again and puts the phone to his ear. He can hear the dialing tone, a few seconds pass and then -  
  


\- and then somebody picks up.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter loves, i promise XX  
> please leave me some feedback!! i update a lot sooner when im motivated ;-)


	6. saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> phone calls arent as hard as we thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of short but i wanted to post this quick ! sorry loves i hope u like it

He could hear the dialing tone for all but a second before a voice crackled over the receiver.

  
"Hello?"

  
It was a woman's voice. For a second, he was thrown off and he fumbled, sat at the desk, gripping the edges uncomfortably and his brown eyes wide.

  
" _Hello?"_ the voice repeated, more insistently. A hard tone began to enter her voice at Johnny's loud silence.

  
"U-uh, hi," he stuttered. He slapped a hand over his forehead and cringed. "I'm sorry, this must be a wrong number."

  
"Who is this?"

  
"It's a friend of Morrissey's."

  
"Of _Steven's?"_ She sounded rather incredulous.

  
"You... you aren't a wrong number, then? You know Morrissey?"

  
"He's a relative. You said you're his friend?"

  
Johnny thought for a moment but decided against it. "Yeah. Friend," he replied.

  
"I'll get him."

  
At this, the onslaught of feelings returned in full force, like a freezing tidal wave. Johnny's body went still like a rock again and he clutched the receiver, suddenly nervous.

  
A few seconds of silence passed, save for the muted scuffle of footsteps upstairs and the quiet sound of a door creaking open. Then, he could hear small voices; one deep and soft and the other inquiring and open. No words could he make out, though, and he was left to wait for a moment, biting his nails down to the root.

  
And then, "Hello?"

  
He swallowed. _Well, now or never, right? It's not like everything rests on this._

  
_Not now, brain, shut up!_

  
"Uh. Hey," he said, already berating himself for his lack of conversational finesse.

  
"..."

  
"Morrissey?"

  
"Johnny?"

  
"How'd you know it was me?" Johnny laughed quietly, smiling.

  
"Er. Nobody else would ask for me." Oh.

  
Well. Awkward. Johnny coughed.

  
"Um. I mean. Why are you calling now?" Morrissey said softly.

  
"Oh, d'you want me to hang up?" The words were barely out of his mouth before Morrissey replied,

  
"No!"

  
Johnny laughed softly and rested his hand on his palm where he sat at the desk. His other hand held the phone to his ear. His smile stretched from one side of his face all the way to the other.

  
"Hah," he huffed a laugh, "You're cute."

  
Immediately the other side went silent and Johnny bit his lip.

  
"I mean-"

  
"No, thank you," Morrissey said, voice gentle. Johnny could see the man's pink blush from there. God, what I wouldn't do to hug that guy right now.

  
"S'alright. You are. Cute, that is." He murmured into the phone, voice low. It could be possible that he's trying to make Morrissey blush at this point, but who's gonna tell him to stop? He's always been shit at self-control.

  
"Thank you." Morrissey thanked him again. "But why are you calling now?"

  
"You're asking why it took me so long?"

  
"Yes."

  
Johnny started to feel shame creep back into his bones as he tried to explain. His natural response was to do what he always does, which is to start rambling.

  
"Oh. Uh, my sister, Claire, went off with some bloke. Greasy long hair, great big tat down his neck. Let me tell you, Moz, it was a fuckin' sight, yeah? On his neck, remember, a skull with a long snake writhin' in and out of the eye sockets. Right grim. So my sister, who's just barely sixteen, comes busting out the house with my parents yelling their arses off behind her. I'm just standing there, thinking, what the fuck, right? And she shoves her case, stuffed to the brim full of all her stuff, in the back of this deathtrap of a car -"

  
Morrissey laughed a little.

  
"A deathtrap?"

  
"Christ, Moz! Yeah!" Johnny said like it was obvious and leant back on his chair languidly as he talked, hands gesticulating wildly. "I swear to you. I saw _cling film_ used to replace a glass window on that thing. It was surrounded by a cloud of black smoke. And, fucking hell, when it drove off -with Claire in it, mind you - it made this horrendous coughing noise. It sounded like Andy's dad after his twenty-fifth fag of the mornin'. Spluttering all over Manchester."

  
"Twenty-five cigarettes in one morning can't be healthy," Morrissey offered.

  
"You're right there. Man looks like one of those posters: _'Don't smoke or you'll look like me!'"_

  
Morrissey's laughter tinkered over the phone delicately.

  
"I've seen you smoke, before, though."

  
"Eh?" Johnny asked with a lilt in his voice, humorous.

  
"It was outside your shop. I think you were on a break."

  
"You watchin' me on my breaks, Moz?" he asked amorously, smirking. Morrissey spluttered.

  
"I was simply walking past."

  
"Yeah, enjoying the view, you were. Did I look good?"  


"...Yes."

  
"Hah! I knew it! You like a smoker. Claire was right; it does make me look dead cool."

  
"It does. You're the living antithesis for an anti-smoking campaign."

  
"Exactly. Pick up a fag and you will look drop dead dreamy, just like me."

  
"The tobacco business has never had a more successful year."

  
"And all thanks to me! Hey, did you know me at that point?"

  
"When I saw you outside the shop?"

  
"Uh-huh."

  
"I don't think I did, actually."

  
"Ah. So you've had your eye on me for a bit, then?" Johnny grinned and felt rather than saw Morrissey's flush. He delighted in the man's embarrassment.

  
"I may have." he replied, quiet and stilted.

  
"Hey, that's alright! I was quite caught on you, too, when I first saw you."

  
" _Really?"_ Moz sounded dumbfounded.

  
"Yeah. You probably don't remember. I'm quite glad for that. I freaked. Andy had to shake me, round the back."

  
"I hope that's not a euphemism," Morrissey said.

  
Johnny spluttered with laughter, shaking his head. "You're a gem," he said, partly because it's true, but also because he knew it'll make Moz blush and he wanted to be the one to make Moz's cheeks turn that pretty pink. He wanted to see that. Speaking of...

  
"When can I see you?" he asked.

  
"You want to see me?" Morrissey sounded puzzled again, like he couldn't imagine why Johnny'd be interested.

  
"'Course I do, Moz. I want to see you as soon as."

  
"Oh. We can arrange something?" Morrissey sounded reverent. Johnny was smiling so wide it hurt, biting the inside of his cheek in an effort to stop himself outright grinning like a lunatic.

  
"I'd fucking love that," he laughed. "You free... next Saturday?" _8 days,_ a voice told him.

  
"I don't have plans," Morrissey said. "What time?"

  
"Maybe 1 or 2 o'clock? In the afternoon," Johnny's brain was already buzzing with possibilities.

  
"That's agreeable," Morrissey replied after a second and he smiled fondly.

  
"Okay. Great! Marvelous. I'll stop by yours, then? What's your address?"

  
"It's 384 Kings Road. Don't be alarmed if a rather interrogative woman answers the door and immediately rounds on you. Just repeat 'Mm' and say yes in the right places."

  
Johnny laughed. "I'll remember."

  
"Just to be clear," Moz started, and Johnny listened raptly, "- this is a date? A romantic outing, of sorts?"

  
Fucking hell, he sounded terrified. Johnny's heart felt like it was gonna burst.

  
"Course it is, Moz. If you want it to be."

  
"I do! I do want it."

  
The words and their implication didn't go over Johnny's head but he resolutely ignored that _screaming and burning_ part of his brain in favour of answering.

  
"Good! I do, as well."

  
"Good," Morrissey replied and Johnny can hear his smile.

  
"So I'll see you on Saturday? But if you do feel like stopping by the shop, just to knock about, you can do. I'll be there."

  
"I will. Thank you, Johnny."

  
"Nah, y'alright, Moz. I want to see you."

  
"I want to see you too."

  
There was a second of silence in which Johnny simply basks in the man's presence, even if it's over the phone, before saying:

  
"Well, I won't keep you. See you Saturday,"

  
"Goodbye, Johnny. Saturday."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments + kudos motivate me ;;;))) we're free from angst (for now at least? who knows) so leave me some love


	7. Mike

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO im actually really sorry this took so long for me to post ! ahhhhhh im sorry i love u 
> 
> basically school started again and i have a lot to do this year (i have exams) for example i had a 10 hour long exam today + yesterday so i havent had time !!! ah i also had writers block for about a month BUT i will work on posting faster . sorry again my loves

His face is aching. The muscles are so overworked that a twinge forces its way out of his skin every time he moves his face - the call to Morrissey (that lasted barely twenty minutes, even though it seemed like so much longer) has left its mark on him. He hasn't stopped smiling since and his exhausted facial muscles are paying the price.

  
Andy's noticed, of course - for his entire shift his friend has been sending him looks over the racks of CDs, a teasing grin on his face, eyebrows waggling cheekily. Johnny just sends him a look which says 'piss off' and tries to ignore him. It's difficult though, especially in such an enclosed space, but he manages it quite well considering Andy is sitting right next to him for a majority of the time.

  
When his break comes, he escapes Andy's clutches and leaves to stand out front. Slowly, he takes long drags of his fag and lets his mind wander back to the conversation he'd had with Moz only the night before. He remembers what Morrissey'd said about walking past and liking the look of him smoking.

  
Trying to picture it, Johnny fixes his eyes onto the grey, dirty pavement across the street and thinks of Morrissey's long legs striding over the old cement. He's tall, God, he towers over Johnny but he can't help but love it. It only makes admiring the man even more enjoyable.

  
In his head, Morrissey looks up. His eyes widen when he sees Johnny- almost imperceptibly, but his mind's eye is attuned to everything this pretend-Moz does - and he catches himself before tripping over. Johnny laughs to himself at Morrissey's cuteness (even though it wasn't even happening, Goddamnit he's in over his head for this guy).

  
His image of himself in this fake scenario is a suave, cool, composed guy who doesn't laugh at Morrissey, but rather drags his eyes, slowly, up and down the man's form and takes a long drag of his cigarette as he does so. Morrissey stills and swallows. Johnny would say he was nervous if it weren't for the imaginary dilation in Moz's blue eyes.

  
Johnny catches himself before his mind wanders and his pretend scenario escalates. Unsurprisingly, he can feel the slight heat of a flush on the back of his neck. His heavy boot snubs the cigarette out underneath his feet and it makes a small hissing noise as he does it.

  
When he looks up from the ground, there's a boy standing right in front of him, green eyes locked on his. He almost jumps out of his skin.

  
"Uh. Hi," Johnny says, blinking in surprise.

  
The unknown boy's eyes drag slowly up and down his form - almost as if he's sizing him up - but his eyes snap back to Johnny's in a flash and Johnny forgets about it.

  
"Hello," he says with a smirk, thumb pointed in the shop's direction casually. "You work here?"

  
Johnny shoves his hands in his pockets and lets his curiosity overtake him, looking over the boy in turn. He looks relatively normal. White tank top over some denim jeans. Reasonably attractive face, dark hair, light eyes, ears that stick out the slightest bit.

  
"Yeah," he answers. "Who're you?"

  
The boy sends him another smirk. "I'm Mike."

  
The name is said with some weight, like Johnny is supposed to know who he is by first name alone, or he's famous and Johnny lives under a rock.

  
"Johnny," he returns. Mike expectantly offers a hand for a handshake and Johnny takes it, slightly intrigued.

  
"I'm just off my break," Johnny says. "So I've gotta head back."

  
"That's great, actually," Mike stays glued to his side even though Johnny pointedly turns his back and starts to walk in the opposite direction.

  
Irritation grates at him, small but present, but he elects to ignore it for the sake of not ruining business for the shop. You owe me, Andy, you dick.

  
"What's great?" Johnny asks, an edge to his voice.

  
"I'm looking for your manager, actually." Mike replies.

  
Johnny stops, his hand stills where it's poised in the air, about to push the wooden door to their shop open. His eyes narrow slightly at the mention of his friend and questions immediately shoot off in his head. Who is this? How does he know Andy? He looks about fifteen, what's he doing here? And why's he acting like he's got some kind of authority over him?

  
"...Why?" Johnny sums up his thoughts. Mike smirks again (seriously?).

  
"He tells me you're hiring."

  
-

  
That's how Johnny ends up with a colleague. The most annoying colleague on Earth. Mike and Andy have known each other since they were five, and the guy's apparently a Grade 8 drum master, so 'He's alright, Johnny, he's a mate,' and Johnny has to sit with him all day.

  
"Johnno!"

  
"I told you, don't call me that."

  
"You love it."

  
Johnny's knuckles tighten where they're clutching an issue of NME. An issue of NME that he could have been reading, undisturbed, perfectly peaceful, thank you.

  
"Don't give me that look," Mike sits next to him on a stool (Johnny may have to share the counter, now, but he's kept the cushioned seat for himself. Mike will just have to suck it and plant himself on the creaky wooden stool forever. Or until he just fucks off) and picks up a stray receipt.

  
The near-silent sounds of thin, flimsy paper being shredded by nimble fingers reach his ears and he grits his teeth.

  
A second later, he flinches as a tiny ball of screwed up paper hits the side of his cheek.

  
"You twat!" Johnny turns his glare on Mike. He still has his finger up in a flicking position and he only laughs at the scandalised look on Johnny's face.

  
Before Johnny can throttle him, the door behind them creaks open and Andy appears, looking flushed.

  
"You're fucking useless. Both of you," he declares heavily. He's a little bit like a mother, arms crossed over his chest and a stern glare over his features as his metaphorical children cower beneath him. Johnny smirks but then his momentary mirth is mauled by the sound of Mike's own sniggering.

  
"Okay, Mum." he says.

  
Johnny watches Andy harrumph. As he often does, he edges round the counter and hops up, sitting on the surface unsteadily. Johnny feels a bit anxious every time he sits up there (right onto his open NME, fuck's sake) but he thinks of what it's gonna look like when the counter inevitably collapses under his weight and Andy topples to the floor hilariously. The look on his face, fuck, he can imagine it already. He'll probably laugh himself straight into hell. Right after he checks his best mate's alright, of course. Probably.

  
Andy hops up and settles his glare onto them.

  
"Your own mothers will be a lot less forgiving when I tell them you've been slacking. Especially yours, Johnny."

  
He's right, there. His Ma's been clawing his back since Claire escaped, and Johnny's had half a mind to fuck off to somewhere in the South, himself, but he has responsibilities here that he just can't leave behind.

  
_Uh, responsibilities, indeed. Like finally getting the opportunity to touch Morrissey's soft quiff?_

  
_Shut up, brain, you twat!_

  
"My mum'd never believe any lies from you, Andy!" Mike's laughing as he flicks more paper in Andy's direction, no qualms in sight despite Andy literally being his boss. It's strangely liberating to watch and Johnny wants to join in and flick paper at his boss as a unique show of mutiny.

  
"Your mum loves me!" Andy catches one of the small pieces and chucks it back. It hits the side of Mike's grinning face with a small smack. "She's the only reason you work here, mate!"

  
"Your dad is the only reason you work here, mate!" Mike returns.

  
"Oh, yeah, right. That reminds me," Andy says, shoulders slumping and the smile slips off his face. It's replaced by an awkward grimace. "My dad's coming to check this place out, later in the week."

  
It's strange, Johnny's been working here for a few months now and he's only seen Andy's dad knocking about once. He's an old guy, with salt and pepper short, cropped hair. Andy's inherited his chin and nose but his eyes are all his mother's.

  
He's barely ever around, works down in London a lot, and has Andy manage most of the shop's finances and business. It's a tad unfair of him but Andy seems fine with it. Johnny feels a bit guilty for pissing about on the job now he realises how hard Andy probably has to work to keep the place going properly while his dad's off in London. He resolves to work harder.

  
"Oh, God," Mike groans. "Is he going to have a go at me because I mouthed off at him back when we were ten?"

  
"His memory's a bit dim now so he's probably forgotten who you even are. Let alone you, Johnny." Andy says.

  
"I am very memorable, thank you," Johnny jokes.

  
"You met him once and all you did was nod."

  
"Like I said. Memorable."

  
Johnny has very few memories of Andy's dad. Unsurprisingly, the man's visits are spontaneous and sporadic, but they loom over Johnny like a weight whenever he enters Andy's back room (where a picture of his family rests on the desk).

  
-

  
After getting home, Johnny ignores his parents arguing and flees upstairs. Quickly, he settles on the bed with a biro and a notebook. He bought this for studying. Oh well, he says to himself, this is definitely more important. There is absolutely no chance that this is less important than studying Physics.  
Johnny bites his lip and stares down at the striped sheets of paper. They have nothing written on them, yet, so he scribbles down a heading:

  
First Date Potential Ideas (Which is not what Johnny's future happiness currently entirely rests upon):

  
Adequate. He smiles a little bit smugly and nods. Okay, that was easy - first item on the list, brain? He decides to go with the traditional, obvious choice:

  
1) Movie and dinner.

  
Hmmm. He contemplates it, mulling the idea over in his head like a sweet in his mouth. Him and Morrissey (brilliant so far), alone in a dark room (getting better) watching a film? What kind of film?

  
Horror? He thinks of Morrissey's lithe form pressed against his side, face hidden in Johnny's neck because of something gruesome and horrific on screen. That is a nice thought that he may have to revisit... later.

  
Then his brain turns on him and he imagines Morrissey in tears, shaking with fear... What if he doesn't deal with horror movies very well? Not a very good beginning to their thing, admittedly. Horror movies can go one of two ways and Johnny would rather not have Morrissey fleeing from him before he'd even got to -

  
Next option, then -- Romance?

  
Might come off as a bit forward. But then what if Morrissey likes that? Does he want Johnny being forward like that? Would he give that pretty flush? Or would he freak out? He hears 'going too fast' in Morrissey's soft voice and bites his lip again.

  
This is harder than he thought. He'll have to come back to Item 1.

  
Johnny thinks for a while and scribbles down Item 2.

  
2) Bowling.

  
Actually, that idea isn't entirely repulsive. He knows of a bowling alley up in Deansgate that they can get the train to which may be interesting. And, it's a very casual environment and he'll get to show off his bowling skills.

  
But what if Morrissey isn't into all the other people around them? The place will be inevitably busy. What if he prefers an environment that's less intrusive and more cozy? Where it can be the two of them, talking?

  
Hang on, that's an idea.

  
3) Hanging out in my room?

  
Immediately, issues spring to mind that he can't help but ponder. It does seem a bit like he's not making an effort if they don't go out... But he can always secure a second date and put effort in then. He just hopes he doesn't seem like he doesn't care if they chill in here.

  
Maybe they can go out to eat and then stay here? He can put some records on and make it good for Morrissey. Plus, if they stay in here, where it's comfortable, nothing can really go wrong, right?

  
His eyes trail over the options again.

 

First Date Potential Ideas (Which is not what Johnny's future happiness currently entirely rests upon):

1) Movie and dinner. 2) Bowling. 3) Hanging out in my room?  
  
---  
  
 

He still has a week to go over it. Deciding shouldn't be that hard. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MIKE IS HERE yay? or nay? opinions of mike?  
> and what do you think johnny should choose??? option 1, 2 or 3? what would u guys like to read? do u have any better date ideas???? let me know my loves !
> 
> (the wait wont be as long for the next chapter i promise + there will be morrissey X johnny interaction)

**Author's Note:**

> LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK OF THIS LOVES  
> i need opinions aa


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